Can't Be Gone
by theSardonyx
Summary: Close calls spell regrets and death opens the eyes of the blind.
1. Arthur

**/****

 *** Warnings: Headcanons and OOC-ness. And probably feels. Dunno. You have been warned.**

 *** Update schedule: Yes, I am setting an update schedule for this thing. Twice a week: Tuesdays and Saturdays. But don't worry about me not being able to write on time. The story's already finished.**

 *** Please review.**

 ***/**

I

 _Arthur_

 _Unknown place. Unknown date, Unknown time_

Arthur opened his eyes to a vast expanse of darkness. He felt strangely light, as if he was floating, and also strangely comfortable. He tried to remember how he had gotten there - wherever "there" was - but there was only a memory of cracking sounds, a sharp pain in his torso, his life in fast-forward, and a blinding white light...

His life in fast-forward. A blinding white light.

... Huh. So he had died.

Figured. There was no way anyone would survive being crushed to a wall by a speeding truck.

Arthur heaved a sigh of relief. Most people would probably find it strange - not that it was something new - that he was relieved that he had died, but his mind only thought of the little girl that he had pushed out of the way and how thankful he was that it wasn't her who suffered this fate. The girl had too much to live for yet and there are a lot people who would no doubt be saddened if she were to perish. He on the other hand...

So he was dead, huh? Arthur didn't quite know what to make of his current situation. He didn't exactly believe in heaven or hell or even the purgatory, but he did wonder if the vast expanse of darkness he found himself floating in was one of them.

"This is not heaven, Arthur," a female voice said. "Nor is it hell. It's not quite purgatory either."

A lady in white materialized in front of him, with shining copper hair and gentle green eyes. He thought she looked familiar, perhaps a face from a very long time ago, but he couldn't put his finger on a name.

"This is a holding place," she continued. "For people who will be given a second chance at life."

"A second chance?" Arthur echoed. The lady smiled.

"It's not really the right term, I suppose. After all, you are still alive, although barely."

"So, it's like a coma? The kind of situation where it depends on my will whether I live or not?"

"Something like that." The lady's smile turned sad. "But your case is different."

"What do you mean?" Arthur asked.

"You will be given 24 hours," she replied. "Within this time, you must find proof that at least one other person wants you to live."

Arthur gaped at her. She wanted him to do what?

"Wha- How am I supposed to do that?"

"Surely it's easy enough to do?" the lady asked, but it's obvious that she knew his situation very well.

"Surely you jest. You gave me this sort of test exactly because you know my situation," Arthur replied. He wasn't quite irritated. Rather, he knew he sounded as resigned as he felt. "Everybody who knows me hates me. Or is indifferent. And for those people who hate me, I'm pretty sure I'm on the top of their list of 'people who deserve to be hit by a truck', if I'm not the only one on it."

"You must be exaggerating." She didn't sound too convinced.

Arthur sighed. "My brothers tell me they hate me all the time. Everybody else talks behind my back about how I'm so grumpy, crazy, prideful, annoying, ugly... They call me names. I'm the butt of every joke. They prefer to play their pranks on me. It's... It's hard to believe that anybody actually cares.

"I know I don't really show how hurt I am and how lonely I am, but surely they'd think about my feelings? I... It hurts... It's sad... But I can't appear weak, you know? I... I was strong. I was great. I... I _was_. Past tense. I'm not strong anymore. I don't have anything to lessen the impact of those rocks anymore. Surely... Surely they see that?

"This... This test is useless. I know I wouldn't be able to find proof of anybody caring with only 24 hours. It's impossible..."

Arthur had curled himself up into a ball in the middle of his tirade without noticing, tears pricking at the sides of his eyes. He was surprised he even managed to hold them in. Perhaps it became too much of a habit that he could even do it unconsciously.

The lady was crouched in front of him with the same sad smile on her face. "Please don't say that. You wouldn't know until you try."

"Optimism won't really help much..."

"Pessimism would only seal your fate," she reprimanded. "Isn't it better to have a choice?"

Arthur laughed without humor. "Is there one? A choice?"

"You think it's an illusion?"

"Of course," he nodded and stood up, squaring his shoulders. Like he had said, he didn't like appearing weak. "There's only one outcome after all."

The lady looked up at him and smiled, but it didn't look so sad anymore. She looked... Optimistic. "People may sometimes surprise you.

"Humans are complex beings. There is no way to know what somebody is thinking or feeling. I only ask that you not put words into their mouths, Arthur. Try to keep an open mind. There must be a reason why they do the things they do."

"Do you think those reasons are reasons enough?" Arthur asked.

"What do you think?"

There wasn't really a question. "I suppose, in all respects, they must be."

~.;*;.~

 _Los Angeles, USA. March 26, 11:04 am_

Arthur opened his eyes to blinding white light. Funny, he thought, that it was the opposite of his previous awakening. His body felt heavy, like it was made of lead. He heard people talking over a steady beeping sound...

"Mommy, he's awake!"

The shrill voice made him flinch and groan, and immediately, the same shrill voice let out a whispered "sorry".

"It's fine..." Something over his mouth and nose muffled his words a bit, but the girl standing beside his bed looked like she understood him. It seemed the owner of the shrill voice was the girl he had saved. She beamed at him.

"The doctors were saying that it'll take a miracle for you to open your eyes again. You've been asleep for four days, you know. I'm glad the miracle happened, mister! I still had to thank you for saving me."

Arthur chuckled, or at least tried to. He ended up with a coughing fit instead. "Aren't you quite mature for being such a young lady?"

Her smile was so sweet and innocent. He really was glad the she wasn't in his position. "Mommy said to thank everybody who helps me. And you helped me so I had to thank you."

"And you have, honey. Now we must let him rest, alright?" the lady behind the girl said. The girl chirped an "okay!", waved Arthur goodbye, and was out the door in a few moments.

Now that the distraction was gone, Arthur could suddenly feel the pain in his torso. It was a bit dull compared to after he got hit by the truck - he figured it must be because of painkillers - but it was still painful to breathe. Every rise and fall of his chest rattled his insides and he kept blacking out. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt that much pain...

But he had a mission. He had 24 hours to find proof that at least one other person would like him to live... Did the girl before count? She did say she was glad that the miracle happened...

No, she only wanted to thank him. And she had. She had said the magic words and there wasn't anymore reason for her to want him alive.

What reason could anyone have to want him to be alive? He and his brothers didn't get along too well. His colleagues would do anything not to be paired up with him. There wasn't really anybody else around who knew even a little bit of him to care. What reason could anyone have to want him alive?

If Arthur wasn't in so much pain right then, he would have sighed. He instead let out a shaky breath, groaning when his chest flared up in pain again. He barely registered the needle that went into his arm and the clock on the wall that read "11:23" before his consciousness faded and the darkness swallowed him once again.


	2. Alistair

**/ Here's chapter two, as promised. /**

II

 _Alistair_

 _Edinburgh, UK. March 21, 7:59 am_

Alistair opened his eyes to the drab ceiling of his room. It was a rude awakening, to say the least. He had wanted to sleep in, maybe stay in bed until 3 in the afternoon, before hitting the pub and finishing its stock of scotch and sleeping in again the next day. Just like he did almost everyday anyway. But it was - where did that blasted clock go - 8 in the morning and he was awake. Why was he awake?

There was a slight feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. Something must have happened... But what? The sky was clear, he wasn't hurting anywhere so he was sure Scotland was fine... Did something happen to his brothers?

He quickly scrambled to the phone and dialed Dylan's number. It was picked up immediately.

"Yes?"

"Did something happen to you?" Alistair asked and waited for his brother's response with bated breath.

"Funny, I was about to call you to ask the same thing."

"No, nothing's going on with me." Alistair paused. "Well, there's this feeling of dread in my stomach..."

"Me too. Something bad definitely happened. But what?"

Alistair couldn't answer that question. "I'll call Connor. You call Arthur."

"He's at a G8 Meeting."

"So? That's great luck. We can disturb their boring meeting and annoy him."

A pause from the other end of the line. "What if something bad happened to _him_?"

Alistair laughed. "To Arthur? Ha. It'll take a nuclear missile to take that guy out. Probably not even then."

Dylan chuckled. "You're exaggerating. But yeah, I guess you're right."

"Arthur is strong," Alistair said more seriously. "He always has been."

It was only when he hung up that he noticed that he had been clutching the phone too tightly. His hands were shaking and sweaty and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get them to still. He let out a sigh and ran his fingers through his flaming red hair. Perhaps getting on with his life could help ease his anxiety...

Yet the hours went by and even as he sat in front of the television, watching news of an abnormally peaceful day in the UK, the feeling of dread in his gut never went away.

~.;*;.~

 _Edinburgh, UK. March 22, 5:27 pm_

Alistair never did hear word of what had happened when Dylan called Arthur, if he had at all. Still, he was expecting a call either from his calm brunette brother or a livid blond one, so he wasn't too surprised when his phone rang. He muted the television, which had been on all night - how could he get some sleep with that sick feeling pooling in his gut? - and turned the phone speaker on.

" _Ecosse_?"

Francis? Now that was unexpected.

"Does _Angleterre_ still happen to be in the UK?"

Alistair's eyes widened and he almost dropped his phone. The feeling of dread in his gut intensified tenfold at what he had heard and he felt like something had wrapped itself around his throat and heart, squeezing hard, and he couldn't breathe...

"No," he croaked. "He definitely boarded a plane to LA."

"He's not here. The hotel clerk said he never checked in." There was worry in Francis' voice. "Where do you think he could be?"

"I don't know... He wouldn't-"

Alistair stopped in mid-sentence. What he was seeing... No, it couldn't be...

" _Ecosse_?"

His eyes were fixed on the international news where it showed an occupied gurney being pushed inside an ambulance. The body was covered in bloodied sheets and the face almost couldn't be seen from all the blood and the respirator covering the nose and mouth, but that blond hair, even though it appeared mostly crimson at that point, was unmistakable.

"No..." He let out a breath, unable to believe in what he just saw. There was no way...

"Did you see the news, Alistair?"

France's voice. Asking about the news. Was he talking about the same news?

"There's no way..."

"They found an ID in the victim's pocket."

"There's no way, Francis! That couldn't have been-"

"It was Arthur."

That's it then. His greatest fears in three words.

"The news didn't cover his condition after he arrived in the hospital, but since he wasn't announced dead on arrival, there's still hope." Francis' voice was strained, as if he was not only convincing Alistair but also himself. "I'm sure he'll live, Alistair. He wouldn't go down without a fight." With that, he hung up.

One by one, tears fell from the redhead's eyes, despair and terror gripping him. Arthur was strong. Arthur was a nation; he wouldn't die easily. But getting crushed by a truck! Surely it hurt. Surely it was agonizing.

Because it hurt for him. It was agonizing for him. Because, yet again, he wasn't there. He had always left his youngest brother alone on the excuse that he was strong, that he didn't need any help, that he didn't need pity. But no matter how strong a person was, they can only take so much. No matter how strong anything was, they can only stand so long before they start to crumble from age and wear.

Alistair was an idiot for not realizing that perhaps, his brother had been exhausted from centuries of fighting, worn out from trying to appear strong, tired from all the pain and suffering. Hadn't Arthur always shielded them from everything? Hadn't Arthur always done everything for them? How could it have slipped his mind, even for just a second, that Arthur was still human? Immortal, in a sense, but _human_.

Alistair was the weak one. Wasn't that why he allowed Arthur to do everything? Wasn't that why he always insisted that his youngest brother was strong? Wasn't that why he always said that he hated the other, that he wished they weren't related at all? Because he was jealous. Because he couldn't stand to be in the shadow.

So now Arthur was in pain, perhaps even dying. Nobody could grasp the concept of their immortality fully, and there wasn't really a reason to believe that nations couldn't die like mortal humans do. Maybe they healed from their wound from wars, maybe they were revived after being assassinated time and again, but didn't know how that worked. There were cases where the nations didn't revive even when the country was still alive...

Arthur may be dying and Alistair was still sitting in his living room, bawling his eyes out, instead of beside his brother and encouraging him to live. What a useless brother he was.

"I'm sorry..." he whispered, wiping the tears from his eyes and sniffing. "I'm your older brother. I should be the one protecting you and yet..."

He shook his head. No use dwelling on thoughts now. Actions speak louder than words, and he could only hope that his actions now would be enough to nullify the hurtful words he had said before.

"Hang on, little brother," he said, putting a coat on and putting his phone and keys in his pocket. He was out the door in a heartbeat. "I'm coming for you."

 **/****

 *** To Victoria H: In response to your review on Encounters (as well as everything else, I guess) - Thanks for reviewing.! As for your interpretation on stuff, I'd say you're right. I mean, the deal with that story is that you can put whatever meaning you have in it. I actually used to think it's just a bunch of bs that I wrote to fight off boredom, but apparently it meant something to somebody so I decided to post it. So, whatever you think will always be right. But if you want to know how much your interpretation synced with mine after the revelation that it actually meant something, then I suppose you're half right. Like, the half that Anovia didn't get right. Once again, thanks. And I hope you read my stories still. :)**

 *** Please review.!**

 ***/**


	3. Alfred

**/ I'm posting this when it's already Sunday noon in my place but it's still Saturday evening in America, so... I'm not yet late? :P /**

III

 _Alfred_

 _Los Angeles, USA. March 22, 8:09 am_

Alfred was probably being an impertinent brat, as Arthur would say, for being late at a meeting that he was hosting, but really, he could care less. Truth be told, he would have preferred to skip the entire thing altogether, but his boss might find out and he was going to get chewed.

Give him a furious Ludwig anytime, but he didn't want an angry president, thank you very much.

Still, even if he did plan to be a little late just so he can make a flashy entrance, it seemed the world didn't want him to reach his destination within the next hour. The traffic wasn't moving at all and every other car on the street was honking like there's no tomorrow.

He opened his window and signaled the car next to him to do the same. "What do you make of this?"

The other driver scoffed. "This is LA. It's not uncommon to be stuck in traffic, but this is insane. It's been half an hour and we haven't moved an inch."

"You reckon there was an accident up there?"

"I wouldn't be surprised. I'm wondering what's taking things so long to clear, though."

Just as he said that, the cars in front slowly started moving. Still not fast enough, but at least the traffic was flowing again. Alfred glanced at his watch. 8:14. With the pace everything was going, he was going to reach the meeting place in another two hours.

Just imagining Ludwig's face going red in rage makes getting stuck in traffic almost like a blessing.

He was curious about the accident though. Granted, he wasn't really sure if there was even one, but like the other driver earlier had said, it wouldn't be surprising if it was the reason why the traffic wasn't moving.

It was fifteen minutes later that he arrived at the scene of the accident. A large truck had smashed into a wall. It practically looked like scrap metal at that point. He didn't envy the driver.

The traffic was moving very slowly because only one lane was currently being used. From his lane, Alfred had a perfect view of the goings on within the area cordoned off by yellow police tape. A young girl was being interviewed by the media, her knees and elbows scraped as if she skidded on asphalt. He heaved a sigh of relief. At least she avoided the truck in time.

Alfred opened his window to try to hear what was being said, but he could only catch a few words.

"...playing...suddenly...bright lights...pushed me out of the way..."

So somebody had saved her. Faith in humanity restored.

"...happened...him?"

"...got hit...wham! It was so fast...flew...crushed...truck and the wall..."

Oh. The guy who saved her was hit instead. Alfred wasn't quite sure if he should still be relieved or not. If the guy hadn't pushed her, he wouldn't have died but she would have. A life for a life? Couldn't there have been a scenario where both of them survives? Perhaps it's idealistic, but surely... Surely there was a chance that both of them could be saved?

"We have identified the victim as Arthur Kirkland..."

Anything said after that didn't register in Alfred's mind. Arthur? The guy who saved the little girl just then was Arthur? The guy who got hit by the truck and "flew" was Arthur?

Alfred laughed. Here's the scenario that he wanted, the scenario where both lives are saved. Arthur was a nation after all. He wouldn't die from just that.

Then what was that feeling pooling in his stomach? Why was he gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckled were white? Why was he shaking? Why did he feel so afraid, so terrified?

Sirens blared from behind him and Alfred snapped from his panicked trance. The ambulance. Why did the ambulance arrive later than the media?

The paramedics were soon rushing towards the scene, carefully extracting a battered and bloodied body from where it was crushed between the truck and the wall and laying it down on a gurney. They wheeled the gurney towards the ambulance slowly but urgently, and it was right before they put a respirator on the man's face that Alfred caught a glimpse of the victim.

There was no mistaking those huge eyebrows. But somehow, Alfred couldn't find it in himself to laugh at them.

"Arthur..." He found himself walking towards the ambulance with unsteady legs. When did he get out of the car?

"Arthur..." He could hear voices yelling at him in the background, but he ignored them. They didn't matter. Arthur mattered. It mattered that the brother that he looked up to, the one he tried - and kept trying - to surpass looked so weak, so vulnerable. So _frail_.

"Arthur!" He broke into a run, bowling over anybody who tried to stop him from getting to his destination. He had to get there. He had to make sure that Arthur was fine. He had to make sure that Arthur was _alive_.

"Sir! Calm down, sir. Please!"

Why wasn't he getting closer? Arthur was right there...

"I have to... Arthur... You can't die..." Alfred struggled against the people who were trying to hold him in place. Why weren't they letting him go to Arthur?

"Are you related to the Mr. Kirkland?"

Alfred swallowed and chose his words carefully. "He took care of me when I was younger."

The paramedic who asked scrunched his eyebrows. "I'm afraid that unless you are an immediate family member, I cannot let you ride on the ambulance with us."

"I..." There wasn't really a debate on whether he should say it or not. He was willing to throw away anything if that meant he can stay by Arthur's side. Wasn't that why he became independent in the first place? "I'm his little brother."

~.;*;.~

 _Los Angeles, USA. March 22, 9:38 am_

"Matthew..."

"Alfred? Where are you? Have you seen the news?"

"No, I haven't. But listen. Arthur..."

"I know. It was on television."

"I see."

"How did you know?"

"I was there when they extracted him from..."

A sharp intake of breath came from the other end of the line. "What... How was he?"

Alfred shook his head even though Matthew couldn't have seen it. "Terrible. He was covered in blood. Matt, the Arthur that I saw... It wasn't the Arthur that I remember." A choked sob came from his throat and he realized that he was crying.

"He looked so frail, Matt! Like he didn't own the back that I kept seeing in my dreams, like he didn't stand tall and proud all the time. I... I don't understand..."

"What are you trying to understand, Alfred?"

"I don't understand why I thought that looking like that was normal! Why did I think that it's perfectly natural for Arthur to look like that? Arthur is strong, Matt. It shouldn't be natural!"

"Alfred..."

"I've been trying all this time to surpass him, to be stronger than him. And every time I felt that I could finally touch his back, he gets even father away. He's strong, Matt. He didn't need anybody to protect him, you know? He can handle everything. But seeing him earlier, all battered and bloodied, I... I thought, 'This is the person who I always looked up to. Why did he look so weak?'

"You know, I realized... Maybe he had always looked like that. Maybe... Maybe his appearance never really changed. Strong or weak, maybe it's all the same. Maybe strength doesn't have a 'look'. Do you think Arthur looked strong simply because I saw him that way? Do you think I thought Arthur looked strong simply because I thought he didn't need my help?

"I guess that's actually why I wanted to be stronger. I wanted Arthur to need my help. I wanted to be someone he could depend on. Looking back, didn't he need my help so many times before? Didn't he want to depend on me before? Wasn't it just me, who selfishly thought that he didn't need me, that he was too strong to need help, who threw those opportunities away?

"Matthew, right now, I think Arthur needs my help. No, I _know_ he needs my help. And I want to be here to hold his hand. I want to be here when he wakes up."

He didn't see it, but Alfred knew that his twin brother was smiling.

"We'll be with you."

 **/ Please review. :) /**


	4. Francis

**/****

 *** "Fast" update, but only because I was half a day late last time.**

 *** If you guys haven't noticed yet, every chapter is told in a different person's POV. As such, this is probably not how you expected things to go. This is not an adventure story. It's more focused on people's emotions.**

 ***/**

IV

 _Francis_

 _Los Angeles, USA. March 22, 10:48 am_

Francis didn't quite know what to make of the news. That frail looking body on the stretcher was Arthur? The person who got hit by a truck and ended up looking like a broken mannequin was Arthur? There was no way. Like Alistair had said, it couldn't have been...

But it was.

He couldn't really accept it, even though the police already confirmed the body's identity as that of his "dear enemy", because the Arthur he knew didn't look like that. He had seen the man bloodied and beaten before - he reveled in remembering that he was the cause once upon a time - but Arthur always showed that he wouldn't fall no matter what kind of pain he went through. His eyes always held that fierce determination that Francis - and surely the rest of the world as well - had admired him for, unyielding, unwavering. He was never one to fall without a fight.

The body on the stretcher had been limp. It had resigned itself to its fate, to death. There was no way that Francis would acknowledge that weak person as his most beloved rival.

But it had been Arthur.

The news had said so. Matthew had said that Alfred had said so. He couldn't deny it any longer.

His rival had fallen.

Arthur, that liar. Didn't he say that he'd never fall, that he'd never let himself be killed until his dreams are realized? The world was far from peaceful yet, so why did Arthur let himself be broken? Why did he let himself get so...

So... What?

Weak? Arthur wasn't weak. He was strong, stronger than anybody the world had ever seen. He was stronger than Rome, stronger than Germania, and stronger than the entire world combined. After all, didn't the bear the weight of the world on his shoulders? Didn't he survive everything that life dared to throw at him? No, Arthur was the farthest thing from weak.

Exhausted? Perhaps. After all, one can only take so much before it started to break down. Arthur bore the weight of the world on his shoulders. He survived everything that life dared to throw at him. In retrospect, it shouldn't be surprising that he had tired himself out. Wasn't it the fact that he managed for so long the most surprising thing of all?

Thinking on it, wasn't Francis at fault? Didn't he promise - a long, long time ago - that he'd be there to stop Arthur from doing stupid things? He was, after all, the kind of person who would willingly sacrifice himself for others, the kind of person who would gladly fight and give his life for a cause he deemed greater than himself. He was the kind of person underestimates the value of his own life.

He was the kind of person who wanted to eat and had the means to, but would give everything away if somebody else needed to eat more.

Francis had no doubt in his mind that Arthur thought the little girl's life as something more important than his own.

And he agonized over that thought. He had promised that he would stop Arthur from doing "stupid" things exactly because he saw no value in his life. He had promised because he wanted to change that thinking. And yet here they were, in the present day, and Francis, of all things, forgot about the promise that he had made. In the midst of all the wars and disputes and other insignificant things, he had forgotten something so important.

" _D_ _é_ _sol_ _é_ , Arthur... _Je suis d_ _é_ _sol_ _é_..." Francis muttered, tears streaming from his eyes. He muttered the same words again and again, trying to make up for the centuries that he had forgotten his promise.

~.;*;.~

 _Los Angeles, USA. March 22, 11:04 pm_

The Kirklands - and one O'Brien - got to LA at the earliest time that they could and Francis, frankly, was surprised to see them looking so terrified. Arthur came from this family after all, and if anything could be proof of their lineage apart from those hideous caterpillars they call eyebrows - of course, he'd never miss a chance to point that out, and especially in such a serious situation, when he knew they all needed a little bit of lightheartedness - it would be their expressive green eyes.

Francis could practically feel the fear they were emitting.

"My... _Our_ brother... How is he?" Alistair was the only one who spoke, but Francis knew they were all asking the same question in their heads.

As much as they would like to pretend hating their youngest brother, that was all it was - pretenses, acts. Before it had been so Arthur would grow strong - and it succeeded - but in the more recent years, it just became something that they couldn't throw away. They didn't really know how to interact with their youngest brother in another way and in the end, they just stuck with the method that they had always employed.

Francis was sure that when - _when_ , not if - Arthur gets better, they'd shower him with the love they'd always had for their brother without care of their pride being damaged or any other bullshit excuse that they might make up.

"He's in ICU. In critical condition, but alive nonetheless."

A collective sigh of relief. Francis chuckled.

"Matthew told me that the hospital isn't going to allow visitors until Arthur's condition stabilizes."

"So we can't see him yet?" It surprised Francis that it was Patrick who asked the question. He always thought that the Irishman would be the least inclined to, what with the animosity still going on between the two brothers. But then again, the Kirklands - and the O'Brien - were an unpredictable lot.

"We have to wait for their go signal."

Alistair sighed. "That guy better make it through. Or else we'll drag his ass back from hell then kill him ourselves."

"He will," Francis assured him, but he was also convincing himself. "After all, he's-"

"Strong," Dylan finished. "But we all knew that even before this happened."

"What we forget is that while he is strong, he is not invincible," Connor put in. "There were times when we knew he was suffering but we ignored it, saying that he was strong and that he could handle it. Those were mistakes. Big mistakes."

"And we're not going to make the same mistake again," Patrick said, expressing the wills of the entire family. "We'll be here this time. By his side."

"He'll survive," Francis assured them, and this time, he believed his words. "He'll definitely wake up, if it's just so he can laugh at our stupidity."

 **/ Please review. :) /**


	5. Peter

**/****

 *** We're officially halfway through the story. Yay.! Sorry if it seems like nothing much has happened, but as you've probably already noticed, this** **story isn't really plot driven.**

 *** Btw, Erland is Ladonia. (Thank you, bishi-bishi, for reminding me.)**

 ***/**

V

 _Peter_

 _Stockholm, Sweden. March 23, 9:32 am_

Peter did not feel well. He was sure it wasn't the _filmj_ _ö_ _lk_ bread he ate for breakfast, but his stomach kept on flipping and he could almost feel the bile in his throat. He thought that maybe it had something to do with the nightmare he had...

Erland, who had been complaining about Berwald _again_ , noticed and looked at him with worry. "You look sick."

"I _feel_ sick. But it wasn't breakfast."

"Damn," Erland clicked his tongue. "That would have been one more thing to complain about Berwald."

Peter playfully punched his arm. "Berwald is fine."

Erland scoffed.

"Say, Erland?" The other boy looked at Petter attentively. "What would you feel if, for some reason, you won't be able to see Berwald again?"

"As if that'll ever happen," Erland said, dismissing the thought almost immediately. "We're nations. Well, _they_ are. If anything, we'll go first."

"But... What if it happens? What if suddenly he's gone and we're left behind? What would you feel?" Peter insisted.

The other boy looked at him strangely but thought about his question nonetheless. "I think I'd be devastated."

"That's the primary reaction to losing an important person, right?"

Erland looked scandalized. "I didn't mean that he's important to me! It's just..." He sighed. "I suppose he _is_ important to me. I'd feel really sad if he would just vanish into thin air... Actually, scratch that. I'll be mad. I'll be mad at him because he left without saying goodbye. And I'll be mad at myself because I took the time I had with him for granted and I wasn't able to say that I'm grateful to him, that I appreciate all of the things that he did for me, that I don't actually hate him despite how I act in front of him..."

Peter stared at him wide eyed and he hastily tried to take his words back. "But of course that's a hypothetical scenario. So, I won't be doing that anytime soon." He tried to laugh it off, but Peter looked as if he was inspired.

"You're being pretty honest."

"It was all hypothetical! Hypothetical, I tell you."

"But you know..." Peter started, smiling ruefully. "I think I'd like to be as honest as you are."

Erland was silent for a while. "Did you... Lose somebody important, somehow?"

Peter shook his head. "No, but... I had a nightmare last night."

"About losing Berwald?"

"Not Berwald, but somebody as important."

Erland gave him a knowing smile. "Is it Arthur?" Peter's face turned red and the other boy laughed. "He's important to you, huh?"

"No!" Peter exclaimed. "I mean... He's a jerk. He's so grumpy and boring and sarcastic and... And confusing. He always gets mad at me when I 'tresspass' in World Meetings, he always yells at me for little things, he always tells me I'm annoying and to 'get lost'... But he's also always there for when I have nightmares, he gives me presents on my birthday and Christmas, he asks Kiku for toys to give me, he's there when I feel and sad and lonely... He's such a jerk for making me feel so conflicted.

"Have you ever seen Arthur smile? If not, do you think you can ever imagine him smiling? No, right? I mean, he always has that scowl on his face and his eyebrows are always scrunched up and he looks so scary. But I've seen him smile. It was weird. I mean, you'd imagine something as scary as his face but... His smile was lovely. It was so bright, so blinding. Like he's an angel. It was... What's the word? Surreal. Mystifying.

"I... I want to see it again. I want to make him smile again, like those times before. I... I want him to acknowledge me. I want him to be proud of me. I want to see him beaming with his eyes sparkling while saying, 'As expected of Peter'. I want to be _something_."

Peter didn't even notice that he was crying. He wanted to do all of what he had said, but if he could never see Arthur again... If, for some reason, he couldn't talk to Arthur again... His chest clenched painfully at the thought.

"Do you want to call him?" Erland asked after a while. "I mean, you're feeling awfully depressed about that nightmare that you had and you won't feel better unless you talk to him, right?"

"He's in LA though. What's the time difference?" Peter wiped his tears away. He was going to talk to Arthur so there was nothing to worry about... Right? Like Erland had said, they were nations. It's improbable for them to just disappear...

"9 hours." The two boys grinned. "So it's like, almost 2 in the morning there"

"Arthur's going to be livid, but I can live with that," Peter said, excitedly dialing on his phone. After all, an angry Arthur was better than no Arthur at all.

~.;*;.~

 _Los Angeles, USA. March 23, 5:12 pm_

Peter had panicked when Arthur's phone was declared unreachable, and so he dialed the next number he could think of: his Uncle Alistair's number. He had asked the man about Arthur's whereabouts, but he was simply told to come to Los Angeles. Of course, Peter found it suspicious, as the nations didn't really like it when he went to their meetings on his own accord and them inviting him to one was simply impossible. Not to mention that Alistair was there, and the man preferred to leave all matters of politics to his youngest brother.

His uncle didn't tell him anything about Arthur and why he was unreachable. The only thing the man has said was to come to LA, offering no explanation as to why, but Peter figured that it was because something had happened to Arthur. On the plane, he didn't dwell on it much, but when he had settled himself more than 15 hours later on Alfred's comfortable couch, with the entire Kirkland family sans Arthur and the G8 looking all somber, he had come to realize that maybe his nightmare did come true.

"What happened? Where's Arthur?" he whispered, afraid of the answer. His stomach was in knots and he just _knew_ that something bad had occurred...

"Arthur's in the hospital," Francis answered him. "He got into an accident yesterday morning."

Peter felt the tears fall and his Uncle Dylan put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "He's alive, so don't worry."

"I... I'll see him again, right?" he asked, his voice breaking. He wouldn't know what to do if he couldn't see him again...

"Of course you will!" Alfred sounded like he was trying to convince himself as well. "We'll see him again and he'll berate us for crying for no reason and then... And then..."

"And then he'll laugh at us because we look absolutely horrid with red puffy eyes and snot running down our noses," Matthew said, speaking in a rare loud voice, and everybody laughed.

It sounded like something Arthur would have done if he saw them.

No, it sounded like something Arthur _would do_ if he saw them.

"Can we visit him at the hospital tomorrow?" Peter asked. The atmosphere turned somber again.

"The doctors said we can't visit him until his condition stabilizes," Alfred said. "But... Uhh... Look on the bright side. We get more time to plan our speeches when we see him again."

"I don't think he'll be up to listening to another tirade about superheroes the moment he wakes up-"

"Hey! Heroes are awesome..."

Peter smiled. These people knew Arthur from way back. They fought him, fought alongside him, saw his good sides, saw his bad sides, knew how he'd think and act. And if they believed that he'll survive, that he won't go down so easily, then who was he to refute that?

And if the whole world believed, even that tiny and insignificant peace of metal floating in the sea, how could Arthur not feel the weight of that faith?

 **/ Please review. :) /**


	6. Kiku

**/ This was the hardest chapter for me to write and to this day, I have no idea why. /**

VI

 _Kiku_

 _Los Angeles, USA. March 23, 6:41 am_

Kiku found that the best time of the day to contemplate is during the early hours of the day. He himself preferred to do his thinking about an hour before sunrise, as this was when - in his perspective, of course - the sounds of nature are best heard. The chirping of birds and the rustling of the leaves in the chilly morning air, these help him concentrate on the problem at hand.

But he wasn't there at the time to contemplate on his life or his problems. At present he could only think of one thing alone: Arthur.

They were friends, once upon a time, two kindred spirits in their loneliness and reluctance to actively mingle with the nations in the "mainland". They had shared sentiments and cultures for a while and Kiku looked back on those moments with fondness, even during the time when they fought for opposite sides. Arthur was, perhaps, the best friend that he ever had, and he often found himself wishing that their friendship didn't have to end.

But maybe it didn't. Maybe Kiku was the only one who thought that their friendly relations were over. Maybe even though they fought on opposite sides during the world wars, Arthur never stopped thinking of him as a friend. This was all speculation, however, as he wouldn't have any idea of what the Brit had thought at the time, but perhaps the smile that Arthur had given him on that first world meeting after World War II was all the proof he could ask for.

To be honest, he didn't quite know what went on in Arthur's head even when they were close. The man was a mystery, an enigma, a puzzle with too many missing pieces. Kiku wasn't quite sure if his understanding was so incomplete because Arthur was just too complex to understand or because he didn't put in enough effort to get to know the man.

Kiku was a master of reading the atmosphere, however. He had always taken pride in his ability to read people's emotions and no matter how complex he was, Arthur was no exception.

Kiku knew that Arthur was lonely.

Thinking about it, it didn't really take a genius to figure out. The eyes are windows to the soul, as they say. And anybody would be able to see the loneliness in those expressive green eyes no matter how much the man would have wanted to hide it.

Kiku knew that Arthur was lonely, and yet he didn't do anything.

He didn't comfort him or simply talked to him to make Arthur feel less alone. He didn't try to know more than what the Brit showed. He didn't defend Arthur when he was being insulted.

He let the already large distance between Arthur and the rest of the world increase even further.

Arthur was a very good friend and Kiku didn't deserve him.

~.;*;.~

 _Los Angeles, USA. March 24, 7:30 am_

After his contemplation session the previous day, Kiku spent the next few hours thinking about what he could do to make up for all those years of taking Arthur's friendship for granted. At first, he thought of doing something from Arthur's culture as a way of showing appreciation, but he also thought at it was too shallow. Something like that was too easy to do and Kiku figured that it's not enough of an atonement.

While doing something English would have flattered the Brit, Kiku thought that perhaps it was better if he did something from his own culture. After all, Arthur loved his culture, didn't he? Kiku remembered the time when Arthur tried to put some Japanese influence on his art and while the Asian had thought that what the Brit had made was absolutely wonderful, Arthur had been embarrassed and had said that what came out was nothing but a poor imitation of the real thing. And for a prideful person like Arthur, saying something like that meant a great appreciation of the Japanese culture.

In the end, Kiku decided to fold a thousand paper cranes. To thank Arthur for his love and appreciation of the Japanese culture, he chose to do a classic origami piece. To atone for his neglect of their relationship, he chose to do something that requires determination, patience, and a lot of hard work. To acknowledge that Arthur was a very important person in his life, he chose to arrange the paper cranes into a huge white square inscribed with the character for "friend" with the extra cranes hanging off the bottom as tassels.

And to show how much he wished for them to be better friends, he chose to fold a thousand cranes.

To Kiku, it was the perfect gift. And he sincerely hoped that his "best friend" would think the same.

And so with the perfect gift in mind, he ordered a lot of origami paper and started folding them immediately on the morning of the 24th. Of course, he didn't neglect to eat his breakfast. Arthur wouldn't stand for it if he found out and Kiku smiled at the thought of being reprimanded by a very concerned Brit.

Thinking about Arthur motivated him even more - if that was still possible at that point - and he didn't notice the light knocks and the door opening. He heard Feliciano when he spoke, however, but did not look up from his activity.

"Wow, paper cranes," the Italian reveled. "Are you going to make a lot?"

" _Hai_ ," Kiku answered simply. "I plan to make a thousand paper cranes."

"I heard about that before. If you fold a thousand paper cranes, your wish will come true."

Kiku smiled. He knew that it was only a saying, but he hoped that this prayer would reach heaven and his wish would come true. His wish, of course, was for Arthur to return to them.

"Can I help you?" Feliciano asked and Kiku shook his head.

"No, Feliciano-kun." His voice was firm, determined. "I resolve to do all of this by myself. No matter how long it takes."

After all, if he received help, the "perfect gift" would lose its meaning.

 **/****

 *** Thank you to everyone who reviewed, followed, and added this story to their favorites. I don't think I can show how grateful I am through these A/Ns. :)**

 *** Please review.**

 ***/**


	7. Feliciano

**/ It just turned Saturday but I'm updating this now in case I don't find the time to do so later. /**

VII

 _Feliciano_

 _Los Angeles, USA. March 24, 1:15 pm_

Feliciano would normally be asleep at this time of the day, but he had the feeling that he shouldn't be acting so carefree given the circumstances. He'd attribute it to the gloomy atmosphere around most of the other nations and he honestly found it all so curious.

He thought they didn't like Arthur.

But seeing the way they all walked around with worry for the man, worry that was more than just for an acquaintance, worry that wasn't something you'll feel for a person you don't like, Feliciano found that he was missing a huge chunk of the puzzle.

He thought the other nations didn't like Arthur, but looking at their reactions to the Brit's accident, he figured that there's more to their relationships that meets the eye.

Ah, now he was curious.

Feliciano didn't really know Arthur. He wasn't sure if they met before World War I - the faint image of a blond boy wrapped in a green cloak looking at him with wary eyes came to mind - and their interactions weren't exactly friendly. They fought on opposite sides during the war and to be honest, he found the blond really scary. It was probably those huge eyebrows that were always scrunched up in a frown...

He realized then that he knew absolutely nothing about Arthur. What he had were merely impressions of what the man appeared to be.

No wonder he didn't feel anything more than surprise when he found out that he was caught in an accident.

" _Angliya_ was very kind," a voice from behind him said and Feliciano jumped with a loud shriek.

"I-Ivan?"

The Russian smiled at him. "You are thinking of the reason why people are so upset at the thought of Arthur being gone, yes?"

Wow, spot on.

"Did you know him?"

"A little bit." Ivan moved to sit beside him. "He taught me how to garden."

Feliciano was surprised. Arthur did gardening?

"I was admiring the parks in London when I came across him carrying several seed packs," Ivan narrated. "He asked me why I was there and I said that I liked looking at the pretty flowers. He asked me if I liked them and I told him that I love them. Who doesn't like flowers? They're pretty and colorful and when I look at them I feel warm...

"And then he laughed. He had a beautiful laugh, you know. And his eyes were shining and he looked like a bright little _podsolnechnik_. A sunflower. The sight made me feel warm and fuzzy... Just like when I look at a sunflower.

"He invited me to his garden. It was very pretty. There were flowers everywhere. Many kinds of flowers. There were... Umm... What were they called? Orchids? And roses and poppies and violets... And sunflowers! There were big ones, small ones..."

Feliciano was in awe. He always thought of Arthur as a terrifying person, someone who only scowled and frowned, but here Ivan was, sharing a story of a different Arthur, someone who laughed and smiled and took care of a beautiful garden...

He thought that maybe he had judged Arthur too fast.

"... And he taught me how to garden! He let me have my own patch of dirt in his beloved garden where I could plant sunflowers and he told me I can visit them any time I wish," Ivan finished. "So you see, _Angliya_ is very kind."

Feliciano smiled. "I wish I'd known that Arthur."

Ivan shook his head. " _Nyet_. You _will_ know that Arthur. And then we can all be friends!"

~.;*;.~

 _Los Angeles, USA. March 25, 8:17 am_

The conversation with Ivan the day before triggered Feliciano's abnormally friendly personality and the Italian immediately set off to find the perfect "please be my friend" gift. Since the Russian talked about Arthur's incredible garden, he figured that the "perfect" gift would be flowers. Maybe yellow roses? Yellow roses symbolized "friendship", right?

Ah, but he'd have to get them when he was sure they could already visit Arthur. He wouldn't want them to wilt and go to waste.

Ah, and then he'd have to make sure that Arthur was awake to see them. The flowers would wilt as well even if he bought it when he visited and Arthur couldn't even see them because he was still in a coma and that would also be a waste.

Were flowers out of the question then?

Feliciano didn't like the idea of the "perfect" gift suddenly turning up to be not-so-perfect after all.

Maybe Kiku would have an idea. After all, the Japanese man somehow always knew the right gift to give...

Speaking of Kiku, Feliciano remembered seeing the man with a whole lot of paper before. He had wondered what his friend would do with them and wandered over to Kiku's room to find out.

"Wow, paper cranes," he reveled, seeing the gracefully folded birds on the bed. "Are you going to make a lot?"

" _Hai_ ," Kiku answered simply. Feliciano thought that he must have been concentrating very hard. "I plan to make a thousand paper cranes."

"I heard about that before. If you fold a thousand paper cranes, your wish will come true." Kiku only smiled.

Watching the Japanese man folding origami cranes with deft fingers, Feliciano thought of an idea. The paper cranes must have been for Arthur, so if he helped Kiku fold them, it could be his gift too.

"Can I help you?" Feliciano asked and Kiku shook his head.

"No, Feliciano-kun." His tone was that of finality."I resolve to do all of this by myself. No matter how long it takes."

Feliciano frowned. There went his idea again.

But as soon as that one idea left his mind, another replaced it. This time, it was really, truly, perfect.

"Can you teach me how to fold origami roses?"

Kiku looked up from his activity for a second to raise an eyebrow at him. "Can't it wait, Feliciano-kun?"

"I want to give Arthur a vase of yellow paper roses," the Italian replied. "To show him that I want to be his friend."

Kiku smiled. "Very well. But you'll have to get your own origami paper. I didn't order any yellow ones.

Feliciano bought the paper on the evening of the 24th and was ready to learn by sunrise of the next day. Kiku was patient with him but having an artist's hands, he was able to learn fast enough. The Japanese man had excused himself when he was sure that it was alright to leave Feliciano alone to fold some paper cranes before breakfast.

The Italian resolved to finish the vase before breakfast and show sincere he was to befriend Arthur.

He was adding some finishing touches to the roses - curling up the edges so they'd look like real flower petals - during breakfast when Alistair went thundering down the stairs. He looked like he had jumped out of the bed in a hurry, still in his pajamas and hair sticking out every which way, but he also looked excited.

It was a welcome change in expression since the redhead had probably been the most despaired out of all of them

"The hospital called me. Alfred must have given them my number," he said, panting every other word. "They say we can visit Arthur starting today. Visiting hours are from 10 am to 8 pm."

The once gloomy atmosphere was immediately replaced by joyous whoops and excited laughs by the news. Feliciano looked at the vase of origami flowers in his hands with wide eyes and a huge grin.

He was right on time.

And just as well. "First" impressions count after all. He sincerely hoped the flowers would help ease the gap between Arthur and him that he had created with his prejudice.

 **/****

 *** Sorry if the timeline in this chapter is confusing. And sorry if you found Feliciano a little OoC.**

 *** Please review. :)**

 ***/**


	8. Ludwig

**/ Warning: Headcanons ahead. But then again, this entire story is full of headcanons. And I already warned you in the first chapter. So carry on. /**

VIII

 _Ludwig_

 _Los Angeles, USA. March 25, 10:00 am_

It completely slipped Ludwig's mind that he should have been home by this day. The G8 Meeting was supposed to run for only three days, but because of Arthur's accident, the meetings had to be postponed. Well, supposedly _only_ postponed. By this time however, he was forced to admit that the entire thing had been canceled altogether.

Nobody had been in the mood to sit inside a stuffy meeting room with the threat of a colleague's death looming over them.

Ludwig's relationship with Arthur had always been strictly professional, although there was a time when he greatly admired the man. He wasn't even sure if he should be saying that as if it wasn't true anymore. After all, he had admired the Brit because he had been a great and powerful empire - and Ludwig sought after an alliance with him several times, which the man promptly refused - but even now, when he was nothing more than an island nation, he was still one of the most powerful countries of the world.

Ludwig thought that maybe Arthur didn't really cease to be great.

But back to the topic at hand, Ludwig really should have been home by this day. He could only imagine what his brother had done to the house already...

He wasted no time in dialing his house phone in Berlin - he knew it was alright to call because at this time it would be around 7 in Berlin and it would be too early for Gilbert to hit the bar - and waited for his brother to pick it up with clenched teeth.

" _Ja_?"

" _Bruder_ , the house is still standing, right?"

His brother's annoying laugh came out from the other end. "Of course, West. You have too little faith me."

"I have no faith in you whatsoever," Ludwig deadpanned.

"That's not a very nice thing to say to your older brother."

He scoffed. "If I didn't know what kinds of trouble you often get yourself into, I might. But I do, so no, I will not trust you with anything even remotely valuable."

Another laugh. "So what's keeping you there? Have you finally taken an interest in the easiest way to get a lot of money?"

"No, _bruder_. I still don't like the idea of gambling as a means of earning money. I'm still in Los Angeles because the meetings were postponed. Arthur got into an accident. He got hit by a truck."

A thud on the other end of the line made Ludwig think that Gilbert had dropped the phone.

" _Was_? I don't think I heard that right."

Ludwig sighed. "Arthur had an accident and is currently in a coma. I postponed the meetings but it doesn't look like we'll actually be going through with them anytime soon."

He could hear his brother's breathing over the line. "Arthur... Is in a coma?"

" _Ja_ ," Ludwig answered. When Gilbert didn't say anymore, he began to worry. " _Bruder_?"

"Arthur is in a coma..." he heard his brother mutter, again and again and again...

" _Bruder_ , why are you so hung up on this? I wasn't aware that you two were close," Ludwig asked.

He heard a sharp intake of breath from the phone. "West... Ludwig. There's something I have to tell you. About you, me, and Arthur."

Ludwig frowned. His brother sounded abnormally serious. He wasn't sure if there was ever another time when he sounded like this. Whatever he was going to say was surely important.

"Go on."

"We... Ludwig, do you know who Arthur's parents were?"

"Just get to the point, Gilbert."

"You know that Arthur is British." It was an obvious fact. There was no way Ludwig didn't know that. "Well, have you ever wondered why Arthur was blond while the rest of the British Isles were...well, not? It's because he had a different father from the rest of them. That's who he got his hair color from."

Parents... The British Isles... A different father from the rest... Blond hair... A connection with Ludwig and Gilbert...

" _Bruder_ , are you telling me that Arthur's father was-"

"Germania," Gilbert finished. "Friedrich Beilschmidt."

Ludwig almost dropped the phone in shock. If they had the same father, then that meant...

"Are you telling me that the three of us - Arthur, you, and I - are actually brothers?"

There was an almost inaudible "yeah" from the other end of the line. Ludwig thought his brother sounded embarrassed. And he damn well should be!

Ludwig was angry. If Gilbert had known, why wasn't he told? Why did his brother hide such an important thing from him? For how long? Did Arthur know about this?

He thought about it. Had Arthur known? If he had, the German figured that he must have been distressed. Gilbert hiding such a thing from everybody else meant that he didn't acknowledge their connection. It meant that he was ashamed of the connection. It meant that he didn't _want_ the connection at all.

How long had Arthur looked at him and thought of him as the brother that he had but never _had_?

"What are you going to do now, Gilbert?" Ludwig was mad and he didn't bother masking it.

"I'm going there. I..." A pause. "I'm going to set things right."

" _Gut_. And I'm going to think of a way to catch up with him." Ludwig smiled despite the circumstances. He was still angry though. "To think that I'm actually related to the person I admire the most... I think it's an honor."

~.;*;.~

 _Los Angeles, USA. March 25, 7:08 pm_

Ludwig was surprised when the Kirklands proposed that everybody should have some alone time with Arthur. They said that they knew that everybody had something they want to say to their youngest brother, even though the man wasn't even awake yet. It seemed like everybody had the understanding that whatever it is that they were going to say they didn't actually want him to hear but they want to tell him nonetheless.

They decided on the order by rock, paper, and scissors. Each of them were given an entire hour to say what it was that they wanted to say to their hospitalized brother or friend. Nothing will come out of that hospital room. Nobody will try to eavesdrop. It was all very systematic, something that Ludwig never thought can be done by his colleagues.

Considering the trouble and mischief the nations got themselves on a usual day...

It seemed that Arthur's influence was stronger than the German originally thought. Well, one more reason to admire the man, he supposed.

The lucky first person, Alfred, went inside the hotel room at around 1:00. Ludwig was eighth. He was the last one for the day.

When his turn came and he found himself alone with Arthur in the small hospital room, he didn't quite know what to say. What _could_ he say? Is there something he had to say first?

"Hello, Arthur," he then began, sitting on the chair by the bed. He drank in the sight in front of him, a frail-looking man covered in bandages and hooked up to various machines. The ECG displayed a stable heartbeat but the Brit looked really pale. It contrasted with the image that Ludwig remembered.

"Gilbert told me about you and... Your connection to us." He paused but of course, the man on the bed didn't respond. "I... I'm actually a bit happy.

"I was angry at Gilbert, of course. Why did he have to hide that from me? It was a very important piece of information. I... I would have liked us to be brothers, you know? Maybe... Maybe things would have turned out differently if I had known. We could have talked and I could have been influenced by you. And you would have had another brother. A true younger brother, huh?

"I'm not saying that I could have replaced Alfred. He was important to you, anybody could tell. I'm just saying that..." Ludwig sighed. "I'm not really sure what I'm getting at either.

"I guess what I really mean is... I want to get to know you. Now that I know that we're actually brothers, I want to know you in the way brothers know each other."

Ludwig took a deep breath when he finished then smiled.

"I heard you liked baking. I do too. Maybe we can exchange recipes?"

 **/ Please review. :) /**


	9. Gilbert

**/ *evil smile* Enjoy. /**

IX

 _Gilbert_

 _Los Angeles, USA. March 26, 12:02 pm_

Gilbert left for Los Angeles almost immediately after the phone call with Ludwig. He was worried about Arthur - they were brothers, damn it, and even if he had admittedly been afraid to acknowledge the fact, it remained that he still got worried - and he needed to know his current condition. Ludwig had said that the Brit was in a coma, but Gilbert needed to know if Arthur would still wake up.

He wanted to know if he still had a chance to set things right.

He knew he had been stupid. He had known for a long time about their relationship even before Arthur actually told him during that time when they were allies. And he had been happy about it. Arthur had been the perfect partner in crime, the perfect guy to be allied to.

And then things happened and that alliance went poof!

Gilbert didn't quite remember why he suddenly changed his mind about being Arthur's brother. Suddenly he didn't want to be related to the Brit. Suddenly he didn't want anybody to know he was related to the Brit.

Suddenly, Arthur just wasn't the perfect partner in crime anymore.

He was wrong, of course. He shouldn't have tried to erase the past like that. He shouldn't have tried to cut off their ties just like that. They were brothers and that fact was there to stay no matter how much Gilbert didn't want it to be true.

Plus, there was the fact that trying to deny the connection that they had must have had the same effect as if Gilbert had simply screamed that he didn't want to be brothers with Arthur.

Gilbert tried to imagine what he would have felt if Ludwig had told him that he didn't want them to be brothers. He shivered at the thought. He was sure he had just been stabbed with a really thick needle.

So he really had to set things right with Arthur. Because he had hurt Arthur. He had hurt his brother.

Because he did something that he couldn't ever forgive himself for.

When he found out that Arthur woke up on the morning of the 26th, he was relieved. He still had a chance. He could still try to be a better brother for the brother that he had but never acknowledged.

~.;*;.~

 _Los Angeles, USA. March 27, 10:44 am_

The nations had told Gilbert about the one hour sessions they all had - or would have - with Arthur and since the Prussian arrived after they drew lots, he was put last by default. It was alright him for as long as he could "talk" to the Brit, it didn't really matter what schedule he got.

The schedule that the nations had set up had been messed up by the arrival of the family of the little girl that Arthur had saved. When Arthur woke up when they were in the room, the nations felt really envious. And so, the planned out schedules were delayed even more. When it was clear, however, that Arthur wouldn't awaken anytime soon, they continued with the sessions by 3 in the afternoon.

Gilbert's turn had been pushed to the morning of the 27th.

He was there as the visiting hours started, but he didn't enter Arthur's room immediately. He knew it was obvious that he was a nervous wreck: he kept fiddling his thumbs, muttering - in German so nobody would understand him - in low and hushed tones, and running his hands through his very messy hair.

There was just too much to say and he didn't know how to say them.

What if Arthur was awake when he opened the door? What if he was asked why he went to see the Brit alone first thing in the morning? What if...

Gilbert slapped his cheeks hard. There really wasn't any use thinking about it. He just had to answer honestly if he was asked anything. He just had to say what he felt he had to say when the time came.

Still, it didn't hurt to be prepared. And so the albino ran simulations through his head, ignoring the looks that he received from passersby, until he figured that he was ready to go and face the music.

When that time came, however, he only had fifteen minutes left from his hour.

 _Verdammt_.

He took a deep breath, running his lines one more time in his head, and made to open the door but Arthur's muffled voice from the other side of the door made him pause.

"Only twenty minutes left, huh?"

Gilbert put his ear on the door and listened more closely. He was curious about what the Brit had meant. There were only twenty minutes left before... What?

"I spent most of the 24 hours sleeping. It's a bit unfair."

The albino scrunched up his eyebrows and frowned. Arthur seemed to be awfully concerned about time...

"Still... I thought my brothers would be here at least."

He was tempted to open the door right then and there. He counted as a brother, right? Granted he had refused to acknowledge it before but it didn't really matter, right?

He heard Arthur let out a sigh. "I guess... I'm really just not important to them."

Gilbert did a double-take. Why would Arthur think that? Of course his brothers thought he was important! Anybody could have seen the worry in their eyes even when they expressed relief when their youngest brother woke up.

It was true, however, that the Kirklands weren't really known for being affectionate. It was true that the nations didn't exactly openly friendly to Arthur. It was true that all of them didn't really pay too much attention to what the Brit had gone through.

It seemed like the nations had more to make up for that they thought.

The sound of sobs from the other side of the door startled Gilbert. The Prussian squared his shoulders and took a deep breath, ready to comfort the Brit with words that he hadn't thought of yet, when a new voice from behind him made him spin around and stare at the newcomer in horror.

"Why are you outside? You haven't gone in?"

If Alistair and the other nations were already there, that meant...

The shrill sound of an ECG flat-lining made all of the nations jump and they wasted no time in opening the door. Inside the room, the sound was even more shrill and partnered with the actual sight of the ECG monitor, it was literally a death bell.

"Don't you dare, you bastard!" Alistair screamed and ran to his brother's side to shake him awake. As if the Brit was only sleeping.

But all of the nations in the room knew that it was futile.

No, Gilbert thought, shaking his head. They were too late.

 **/****

 *** [insert maniacal laughter here] I warned you. Well, I technically didn't, but whatever. You should've expected this from me.**

 *** Please review. :)**

 ***/**


	10. Arthur II

**/ I was tempted to push this update back an update day just to spite you guys. :P /**

X

 _Arthur_

 _Unknown place. Unknown date, Unknown time_

"Welcome back, Arthur," the lady in white greeted him almost immediately after he opened his eyes. He was back in the same vast expanse of darkness he had woken up in after the accident.

He frowned. Why was he still being held there when he was already truly dead?

"What's the matter?" the lady in white asked. Arthur could see a hint of a smile on her face, but it wasn't the sad one that she had shown him before.

"Why am I here again? The 24 hours you have given me are up and I didn't find any proof that someone else would like me to live..."

"Is that really true?"

Arthur looked at her, perplexed. "What do you mean?"

"Think back on the things you've seen or heard," she said. "Nothing there strikes you as proof?"

"There was a vase of yellow paper roses on the stand," Arthur recalled. "I'm glad that someone thought of bringing it there but... I don't really see..."

"Anything else?"

"Well..." Arthur thought some more. "I thought I heard my brother yell."

"Did he say anything... Noteworthy?"

"If you find 'Don't you dare, you bastard!' noteworthy, perhaps," he said dryly and the lady chuckled. "But..."

"But?" the lady coaxed him.

"I thought he sounded angry."

The lady's smile grew wider. "What do you think it means?"

"I guess... He's angry that I died?"

"And?"

"If he's angry that I died... That meant..."

She clapped her hands. "So you did find your proof."

Arthur stared at her with wide eyes. Was that really what it meant? He wasn't overthinking it, was he?

"Ah, but..." he said as he remembered one particular detail. "He said it when I was already dead. He..." He hung his head. Ah, he knew it was too good to be true. "He was too late."

The lady's smile didn't disappear, however. Instead, she held his hands and squeezed them. "No. He was right on time."

"But how? My heart had already stopped..."

"But your brain was still alive for about eight more seconds after. That's why you heard him yell, you know."

The tears involuntarily fell from Arthur's eyes at what he had just heard. So his brother at least wanted him alive. And he found his proof right on time.

He was going to live and see everybody again.

"You were right when you said that I gave you this test exactly because I knew your situation," the lady said, bringing him into her embrace. "And I knew they'd make it."

"How would you know that?" Her embrace felt strangely nostalgic, as if it wasn't the first time she had hugged him...

"I have been watching you for a long time... You and your brothers..."

Ah, so that was it. Of course she looked familiar. Of course she felt nostalgic.

"Mother..." Arthur muttered and buried his face into the crook of her neck. "I... We all miss you."

"I know, honey," she said, stroking his hair. "That's why this had to be done. They were so caught up in their grief when they lost me and they completely neglected you. And they didn't know how to change when they have gotten over my death. They would have kept biding their time if I didn't force them to see how much they've been taking you for granted.

"And then there's you. You may have grown, but you're still a child. You don't know how to not believe in everything that you see and hear. That's why you believed that you were alone, that the others didn't need you. But they do. This was also for you to see it for yourself.

"Nations may live for a long time, but we are not immortal. We die too, even though it may take another hundred or thousand years. And so, it's still important for us to live our lives without regrets and to cherish every moment that we have with the people important to us. This is the lesson that I planned to impart with you and the other nations from the start."

The lady smiled. "Are you ready to go back?"

Arthur gave his mother one last hug and stepped back. He had learned his lesson and he was ready to go back to his family and friends. He was ready to see the present for himself.

"Yes."

~.;*;.~

 _Los Angeles, USA. March 28, 2:07 pm_

Instead of the blinding white light that he had already associated to waking up in a hospital room, the first thing Arthur saw when he opened his eyes was the concerned but relieved expression on his oldest brother's face. It made him remember the talk that he had had with his - their - mother in the darkness and he immediately started crying, causing Alistair to panic.

"Arthur? What's going on? Are you hurting anywhere? Should I-"

"I'm fine," Arthur replied, frantically wiping at his eyes. "I just... I'm alive and..."

Alistair took his youngest brother's hands away from his face and kissed the blond's forehead. "Aye, you're alive. We didn't doubt for a second that you'd survive this, you know."

"But, _Gott_ , don't do that next time, alright?" Arthur heard Gilbert's voice before the albino appeared in his vision. "It scared the shit out of all of us, let me tell you."

"Gilbert?" the Brit asked, thoroughly bewildered. "Why are you-"

"We're here too!" Alfred chirped from the background.

Arthur tried to sit up but ended up jarring his broken ribs instead. But he had to see the people who went to visit him, the people who deemed him important...

"Hang on, there's a button for that somewhere..." the redhead beside him muttered and after a few moments, half of the bed started to incline, putting Arthur in a sitting position. He had the perfect view of the entire room.

It was filled with nations. His entire family was there, even Patrick who always claimed to hate his entire being, the entire G8, Gilbert, and Peter... These people who were important to him also found him important. He felt warmth rising up in his chest and he didn't quite know what this feeling was called, but it was pleasant.

He supposed... He was happy.

"You're all here..." he murmured and he felt the tears falling down his cheeks again. He didn't bother wiping them away this time.

The other nations smiled at him warmly. How could he have thought that they didn't care for him? Their eyes expressed their love well enough, how couldn't he have seen that?

Granted, they weren't really making it easy to understand.

But Arthur could see them now and... There really was no mistaking it.

"Welcome back, Arthur," they all said in unison.

The Brit put his arms around the nearest nations - Alistair and Gilbert - and squeezed tight. He wasn't really a hugger, but he'd make this time an exception. He had just cheated death after all, and he simply craved for physical contact.

The two nations in his embrace hugged him back and he sighed contentedly.

"I'm back."

 **/****

 *** Last update is on Saturday.**

 *** Please review. :)**

 ***/**


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